I said I didn’t want another, and watched her hide the Scotch and the two glasses. Then she dug her thumb into the bell-push again.
The bunny-faced girl came in and gave her another coy smile.
“Dig out Eudora Drew’s card, honey,” Mrs. Bendix said. “I want to have a look at it.”
The bunny-faced girl came back after a while with a card. She gave it to Mrs. Bendix the way an adoring Bobbysoxer might give Frank Sinatra a posy.
When she had gone, Mrs. Bendix said, “I don’t know if this is what you want. Age twenty-eight. Home address, 2243 Kelsie Street, Carmel. Three years with Mrs. Franklin Lambert.
Excellent references. Janet Crosby’s personal maid from July 1943. Any good to you?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. Could be. I think I’d better go and talk to her. What makes you think she’s living with a man?”
“How else does she get her money? She’s not working. It’s either a man or a lot of men.”
“Janet Crosby might have left her a legacy.”